Since we talked about the Christmas Day game just below I figured this was as good a time as any for that long-standing Blazersedge tradition, Dave's annual Christmas rant.
Well, technically it's not a Christmas rant exactly. I love Christmas. I love everything about Christmas. My tree touches the ceiling and is burdened with more ornaments than your average Wal-Mart holiday aisle. My yard is full of thousands of lights. I've been plotting Christmas presents for weeks and listening to Christmas music since mid-November. And THAT'S where the rub lies. Christmas music is quite possibly my favorite part of the season. I listen and sing along all day, every day. I love the old standards. I love the obscure carols that nobody else knows. I loves me some Roger Whittaker, for Pete's sake! (That's sad under normal circumstances, but fine at Christmas.)
However there are some supposed "Christmas" songs so brutal and barbaric that even I cannot hop on board with them. And no, I'm not talking about the semi-vulgar parody songs. I actually kind of like them. I'm talking about stuff that people honestly release--which probably means that some poor, misguided souls actually like it--that turns me into instant Grinch when I hear it. Thus the annual Christmas rant in protest. It grows a little each year. Eventually I'll probably have enough for a book.
Here's the list of previous ones that held over through this year:
- Celene Dion should be gagged with a muzzle made out of her own armpit hairs for re-making John Lennon's "Happy Christmas/War Is Over". The original was counter-cultural, iconic, and pretty cool to boot. When she does it, it's just WRONG.
- Kenny Gee should be gagged with a muzzle of Celene Dion's armpit hair for just existing.
- "My Favorite Things" is NOT A CHRISTMAS SONG! Raindrops on roses is a June phenomenon. Whiskers on kittens happen year 'round unless you're really cruel. Bright copper kettles don't even exist anymore because everybody has Teflon coating and they aren't Christmas-specific either. Warm woolen mittens are appropriate but not enough to carry the whole song. And nowadays brown paper packages tied up in string means PORN. So STOP WASTING FIVE MINUTES OF MY CAROL LISTENING TIME EVERY TWO HOURS! Play the darn thing for Groundhog's Day.
4. I'm getting kind of tired of all of the American Idol wannabes polluting the airwaves. I don't care if your name is Carry, Kimberly, Yamil, Ernesto, or Sneaky Pete...if you're going to cover a classic song at least do something distinctive with it. I have no problem with new interpretations of carols. Destiny's Child did some great Christmas work a couple years ago...it reflected their style and was very nice. But if you're going to do a song that was a signature piece for Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, Andy Williams, Judy Garland or somebody and you sing it exactly like they did other than adding a couple of silly grace notes and hopping to the third on the last note and then you call it YOURS? UGH! Just hush up your made-over, TV-faced selves and give me Bing, Frank, Perry, Andy, and Judy. Thanks.
OK...that's it for this year. You may return to your egg nog and Christmas specials in peace now.
P.S. Speaking of Christmas specials, I am semi-ashamed to say that the first one my dear child ever saw was Rudolph's Happy New Year. I don't know if you've seen it but it's a far cry from the original Rudolph. In fact it was a pretty much the exact moment that the Rankin-Bass specials jumped the shark. Rudolph and a bunch of friends have to rescue the kidnapped Baby New Year so the calendar can turn, otherwise the evil vulture fated to pass after an eon of time will live forever and time itself will stop passing. Just about the only redeeming feature of the show is that the deadline is timed by chimes from Father Time's huge tower clock. This leads to a whole bunch of unintentionally (one assumes) funny lines such as, "We have to get back to Father Time's castle by the twelfth bong!"
I'm thinking if your supply is any good you should be able to get most anywhere you want by the third or fourth bong. Unless, of course, the Abominable Snowman is bogarting it again.